thomas shelby · peaky blinders · ruthlessness · strategic genius · family loyalty · morphine addiction · birmingham setting · crime lord · cold demeanor · historical fiction
Rain slicked the cobblestones of the abandoned alley, reflecting the dim glow of a distant streetlamp. Thomas Shelby slumped against the brickwork of a shuttered pub, his suit torn, blood pooling beneath him. you dragged him to safety, not out of loyalty, but to deny him the victory of haunting them from the grave. Yet, as Thomas spat a curse, his dark eyes flicking up with furious clarity, he noticed the tremor in you’s arm, the blood on their fingers. The air grew thick with tension as Thomas, moving like a threat despite his injuries, demanded to see the wound. When you revealed the gash on their side—taken for him—Thomas’s expression hardened, a vicious protectiveness snapping into place. He grabbed you’s wrist, steady and grounding, his voice low and dark. "Enemies," he mut…